A God, Revealed
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Lavellan's meeting with Mythal has thrown into question many of the things she always believed about the elven gods-namely that they were prevented from fighting on behalf of the People by the Dread Wolf's curse. She goes to Solas for answers, and it goes about as well as she expected.


Once, Lavellan would have gone to Solas without question on the matter. Now, she hesitated—but she went anyway. There was no one she could think of who was better to discuss it with, even then. Recalling what Vivienne had told her about strength and armor—and knowing that Sera would not care or understand the import of what had happened—Lavellan entered the rotunda.

He was surprised. Seeing his face when he looked up from his desk, she knew he had not expected to see her there again, after their last conversation there. The memory of it echoed in both their minds—she could see it in his eyes. He thought she had come again to press him about why he had left her.

"I saw Asha'bellenar," she said. A different look passed over Solas' face—relief? Disappointment? Concern? She couldn't tell. "She and Mythal—they are one and the same. I have spoken with Mythal." The reality of that was still sinking in—for Lavellan and Morrigan.

"You have?" _That_ was interest—she knew that gleam in his eyes, the way his hands

stilled.

"She was there, at the temple." Lavellan spoke softly, almost as if recounting a dream. Slowly, she moved into the room, but turned her attention not on Solas, but the mural behind him. How strikingly similar it was to the elven art of old—she imagined he had much time to study it at its peak in the Fade, perhaps even more beautiful than it had been in life. "Mythal. She looked human." Solas did not speak, but Lavellan knew this was not a sign of disinterest—he was waiting for her to continue. The path forward was difficult—Lavellan struggled with the words, the feelings.

"What did she say?" Solas prompted her after the pause of Lavellan trying to phrase her words had grown too long.

"I asked her where she has been," Lavellan said, a plaintive note creeping into her voice. "Why she has not answered our prayers. She would not answer me!" Her voice broke and she swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. Always too quick to tears, Fen'an had told her. "She would not answer. But she is free—she walks the earth. If Mythal, why not others? Are they broken free? Elgarn'an, Falon'din, Andruil? Have they been here all along? Ifthey are, why have they left us alone? Why have they abandoned us?" Her tone turned to demands, hearing her own pitiable voice in the clearing, begging Mythal for answers. She touched her chin, then remembered her _vallaslin_ was no longer there. For a savage moment,she was glad she had allowed Solas to strip away the brand of a god who had done nothing to protect the elves from centuries of repression.

Does no one care for the People?" she cried, turning to Solas with burning eyes. "Is no heart softened to our plight? If Mythal cares not for us, then who will? Do they not see how we have suffered? Does it not move them? What did we do that was so terrible? What did we do that we have earned such a fate? To walk the earth alone, treated like vermin, despised from every corner, robbed of everything that makes us what we are? If Mythal will not free us from the Dread Wolf's curse, then we are nothing to her!" She looked away from him, wishing to hide her tears. Solas thought little of the elven gods, this she knew already— if he even believed her that she had seen Mythal, she was sure he would not be taken aback by her betrayal. It did not wrench his heart as it did hers, after a lifetime of prayer and devotion to gods she believed would have offered aid if they could.

"The gods have not spoken for a thousand years," Solas said quietly to her. "Why does their silence bother you now?"

"Before, we thought they had no choice," Lavellan said, breathing deeply to steady her voice. She turned her eyes up the walls, following the tallest spires of the mural. "They had been trapped, silenced by Fen'harel. Hidden away from us by his treachery. Of course the Dread Wolf would bring down a curse upon us—he has never had love for the People. But Mythal...if she walks freely, then she has had a choice." She turned again to look at Solas, scrutinizing his face for answers. Perhaps that was why she had come—she still believed he had answers. His face was impassive, but there was a tightness to the set of his mouth that belied total disinterest. "She had a choice, and she has chosen to stay silent. To leave us to our fate. It was only once Morrigan had drunk from the _vir'abelasan_ that she came to us. The _vir'abelasan_, which the sentinels fought to keep us from, as if she did not wish to speak with us."

"Perhaps she is not as strong as she once was," Solas suggested. "Perhaps the Dread Wolf spared her for something."

"But to say nothing! To leave us lost and pining! Even if she were too weak to help, she could have reached out to us. Let us know that she was _there_, that she _cared_. That anyone cared!" A few agitated paces took her by Solas' desk and then back again. "There are those who believe the gods are dead, or gone for good. That there is nothing left of them, and the keepers simply refuse to admit it. Others who believe the gods never were, are only fairytales along with the Maker. I have never believed such things—I have _seen_ the gods, in the beauty and singularity of the world! But if they will not aid us...if they have looked upon our suffering with hardened hearts...if even Mythal will not raise a hand to guide us...perhaps our only salvation will come from ourselves." Her eyes studied the floor. What would she tell Keeper Deshanna? The rest of the clan? The more she learned of her people's past, the more painful it became to share it. How tired she was of this hurt!

"If the gods are real," Solas said, "and they have abandoned the elves for so long— are those really the types of beings you wish to pray to for aid?"

"If," Lavellan echoed. She lifted her gaze to Solas' face. "You do not believe that I saw

Mythal?"

"Perhaps what you saw was a powerful mage who has taken on her mantle," he said. Rare anger flared in Lavellan's breast. "You think I was fooled," she said, her voice trembling. "You think the poor, desperate, ignorant Dalish was fooled by some human mage taking the name of one of my gods." Immediately, Solas put his hands up in surrender.

"I only meant...I am sure the situation is complicated, Inquisitor. This upsets you. I'm sorry I do not fully understand your position." The spark of temper drained out of Lavellan with Solas' use of her title; she deflated like a paper lantern left out in the rain after a festival.

"I thought you would understand better than Sera," she murmured. "Perhaps I was wrong." Solas said nothing, so Lavellan walked away. There was no one among her friends and advisors who could understand her position—the two who might had rejected the elven gods and the Dalish and resisted all of her efforts to include them in 'our people'. Vivienne and Dorian were lovely, dear friends, but humans who could not understand how the world looked to a Dalish mage. Cassandra was noble and loyal, but she could never feel with the Maker what Lavellan now felt about Mythal. Josephine might lend a sympathetic ear, and Cole might experience empathy with her situation, but neither of them could feel the reverberations of these realizations that would ripple through the lives of all the elves.

"Inquisitor." As she reached for the door, Solas called lightly after her. She twisted to look at him. "It is possible there is more to the situation that Mythal did not explain," he said.

"Why? Why would she not give me the truth?"

"I am not her; I cannot say. Only that where 'gods' are concerned, things are rarely simple." She supposed it was Solas' way of trying to comfort her without having to express any belief that the gods were any better than her worst suspicions. Bedside manner was not a strong suit of his. But once, she thought, he would have made more of an effort, or invited her to sit a while and gather her thoughts. Now she could see her very presence made him ill at ease, and she did not have the energy to fight it.

"No, it seems they never are," she said, and took her leave.


End file.
